Secrets Exposed
by KathyKat101
Summary: Michael must stop Anson's plans, and get the woman he loves back in his arms. Post 'Fail Safe'.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my first fan fiction!**

** I'm not much of a writer, but I'm trying my best :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Burn Notice. That would be so cool though!**

_I love you Michael… forever…_

The last words of Fiona's letter echoed in Michael's head as he made his way to the door to the prison. A man at the door held out an arm to stop him from entering, but Michael merely held up his CIA clearance badge, and the man nodded and let him through. It has been two weeks since Fiona had surrendered herself to the FBI. It had taken Agent Pearce ages to get him the security clearance he needed to access the prison. An armed guard led him through a maze of hallways and staircases, until they reached the bottom floor. This floor was different from the others. There were no screaming inmates yelling bloody murder as he passed; just silent men with machine guns, and hundreds of cement cells. The guard entered a code into the keypad on the door of a cell about 50 doors down from where Michael had originally entered.

The steel, bulletproof door slid open to reveal a small woman. She was scrunched up on the hard bed, head leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. She didn't change her position until the door had closed shut, and she and Michael were alone in the room. She turned her head slowly, than stared at him like she couldn't believe he was real. Fiona whispered his name quietly. She then slowly got up from the bed, and moved, dreamlike towards him. The room was so small, it only took her about three steps to cross it and throw herself into his arms. Michael hugged her tight, while taking in the environment that his girlfriend had been living in for the last week. All that was there was a cement bench with a thin mattress and a stiff blanket, and a metal toilet. No windows, no view of anything but cement. Michael pulled back slightly, keeping his arms around her waist.

"Why?" he whispered

Fiona gave him a hard look. She disentangled herself and turned to face the wall behind her. She sighed, and sat down on her bed. "You know why, Michael."

Michael walked over and sat down next to her. "Fi I-"

But Fiona cut across him before he could start protesting.

"You were willing to delete CIA records, and burn four operatives for Anson. You clearly didn't know where to draw the line, so I had to draw it for you." Fiona sighed and leaned her head against Michael's shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her.

"I could have fixed it; I could have made sure that there was no permanent damage. I could have found a way out of it." Michael said

Fiona looked up at him, disbelievingly.

"You don't know that Michael. If you couldn't succeed, you would hurt more people than you would have helped. There were no more ways out. I had to stop you before you -." Fiona broke off and looked away. She cleared her throat and changed the topic.

"So anyway, you're here, so you're standing with the agency must not have been affected. How'd your op go?" Fiona said, slightly sarcastically.

"Oh, fantastic." Michael said, not even trying not to sound sarcastic. "One of the members of my team was a plant of Anson's, and she tried to blow up the plane and kill Jesse. By the way, all that ammo you saw in that warehouse; was hers."

Fiona looked slightly surprised for a moment, but shrugged.

"Well, I guess with Anson, you have to expect the unexpected." Fiona suddenly turned and looked excitedly at Michael. "So, Anson has nothing to hold over you anymore, so tell me, how did you kill him?"

Fiona's smile was so big, it was almost insane. But it quickly fell from her face as Michael hesitated

"Well Fi the-"

But Michael never got to finish his sentence, as Fiona jumped up, and slapped him hard across the face, a stinging blow that had him seeing stars.

"You said the only the thing keeping you from shooting Anson, was the evidence he had on me!" Fiona screamed at him. "He has nothing on me now, so why didn't you just pull the trigger!"

"Well, Pearce thinks-"started Michael, clearly trying to keep him temper

"I don't give a damn what Pearce thinks!" Fiona shouted, cutting Michael off for the third time."That bastard has ruined the life of who knows how many people! You need to end him now before he can hurt anymore!"

Michael took a deep breath "If you could just let me finish."

Fiona huffed angrily and sat down on the bed, crossing her limbs tightly and pointedly turning her back to her boyfriend.

Michael started explaining, pacing the small room as he spoke.

"I told Pearce about everything;Larry, the bomb, Anson using that informartion to blackmail us. She… wasn't pleased that I kept it from her, but she slightly understood why I did it, even if she didn't agree with it. Sam's been talking to his FBI buddies, making sure that Anson's name is on their radar, but so far, there's no evidence linking him to the bombing. Their lead suspect is still you." Michael glanced at Fiona to see if she was following, but she was still staring at the wall. Michael sighed before continuing. "The CIA has flagged Anson's account, and made a list of people he may be in contact, but so far, he's laying low." Michael suddenly dropped his professional manner and walked over to Fiona. "Anson is starting something Fi, you know he is. I have to see this through, shooting him just isn't the right move yet."

Fiona turned and looked at him exasperatedly. "Michael, that's the exact same thing you said about Carla, and Gilroy, and Simon. And those didn't exactly work out too well, did they? Carla tried to blow you up, Gilroy got Simon out of Prison anyway, and Simon almost killed you!" Her tone softened as she looked into his eyes. "You might not get so lucky this time."

Fiona stood up and pulled Michael to his feet. "This isn't how I wanted our reunion to be." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and gently pressed her lips to his.

Michael looped his arms around her waist and gently stroked the small of her back, noticing that she had become, if possible, even thinner. Michael pulled back slightly and stared into his girlfriend's eyes. "I'm gonna get you out of here Fi, no matter what." Michael said, and then closed the distance between them again.

**Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! I apologize for any mistakes I made; I'm not really sure what protocol they follow for a guy like Anson. Feel free to review! I can use all the tips I can get!**


	2. Chapter 2

**At long last! (And by long, I mean 24 hours) Chapter 2 has arrived! Hope you like it! :)**

Michael opened the door of his loft to see Sam sitting at his counter, beer in hand, looking at something on his laptop.

"Hey Mikey." Sam said when he noticed him. "How was your lovey-dovey reunion with Fi?"

Michael closed the door and walked in the direction of the fridge. "Not very lovey-dovey."

"She pissed that Anson's still breathing?" said Sam, not looking up from his laptop.

"Yup." responded Michael, grabbing a blueberry yogurt from the fridge.

Sam chuckled. "That's our Fi. Never pleased unless the bad guy is full of bullets and bleeding."

Michael smiled slightly, and then returned to playing with his yogurt.

Sam's phone started ringing, and Sam snatched it up, and then looked disappointed when he saw the name on the caller ID, a look not missed by Michael, who had looked up by the sudden sound.

"You expecting someone?" Michael asked.

Sam sighed. "Yea, Elsa. I was hoping she wanted some Sammy time." Sam took a deep breath before answering. "Yea Harris? Really? Thanks, I'll tell him." Sam closed the phone and turned to Michael. "Hey Mikey, I got some good news for ya."

Michael abandoned the yogurt. "Good news? I could use some."

"Yea, so the FBI has been watching for any suspicious activity; unauthorized shipments, employees who suddenly seem to have too much money."

"So?" Michael said impatiently

"So, apparently, a low level employee has been receiving a large number of anonymous phone calls. Now, the caller has been using a scrambler, so they can't track _where _the calls came from, but the other guy wasn't as clever. The guy is Daniel Grankin, a newly hired file clerk, who also received $10,000, which he calls 'A gift from his grandmother.' Sam paused to take a gulp of beer. "Nothing points directly to Anson, of course, but get this: The same type of scrambler was used to call the prison Fi is in. I'd say it's a good bet it's him." Sam drained his beer, and then grabbed another from the six-pack on the table.

"Great work, Sam." Michael said, checking his watch. "Can you look into Grankins for me? I have a meeting with Pearce about my 'interrogation' with the prisoner."

"Ha, have fun with that brother." Sam said, popping the cap off his beer as Michael walked out the door.

* * *

><p>"Westen, you're late." Agent Pearce greeted him. She was poring over a large stack of files, and didn't even look up as Michael walked in<p>

"Yeah, sorry. There was- uh – traffic on the Causeway."

Pearce smiled slightly and rolled her eyes. "Ah, I see. I thought that it might have something to do with a certain IRA agent in prison that someone might have spent extra time with, but I guess I was wrong." She said sarcastically.

Michael smiled as he sat down. "Thank you for that."

"Yeah, well don't get used to it. I had to pull a lot of strings to arrange that meeting. By the way, you can give me back that clearance badge now." Pearce said, holding out her hand.

Michael regretfully handed over the badge, knowing that it meant giving away his ticket to visiting Fiona.

Pearce put the badge in her desk drawer, closed her file, and then looked up at Michael, crossing her fingers on her desk. "Well Michael, the FBI noticed that a low level employee named-"

Michael cut her off. "Named Daniel Grankins received anonymous phone calls and wire transfers that may or may not be linked to Anson. Sam told me." He said, in response to the questioning look she gave him.

Pearce shook her head exasperatedly. "How does Axe get his information so fast?"

"He has his connections." Michael replied with a shrug.

Pearce rolled her eyes again. "Well then, you know that there's nothing that directly suggests he's in contact with Fullerton, but we'll keep you posted. Though I assume your little squad is doing an investigation of your own." She stopped to take a sip from the coffee cup on her desk. "We've also been watching the tracker you put on Fullerton's car." Pearce reached into her drawer and pulled out a file that she handed across the desk. "He parks it in a different commuter parking lot each day, so we don't know where he lives. However, he does drive it to a certain coffee shop every day."

"Every day between six am and eleven?" Michael said incredulously. "Is Anson getting a latte or fixing their cable?"

Pearce laughed. "Well, that's what you're going to find out. CIA wants you to keep watch on there for a couple days, see if Fullerton's meeting with somebody he shouldn't."

Michael flipped through the pages of the folder. "And am I on my own for this, or do I get a stakeout buddy?"

"Of course you do." Pearce smiled at him. "You get me."

**Thank you guys so much for reading and reviewing! ** **Every time my phone buzzes to tell me a have a new review, I get a little spark of happiness. **

**Debating whether or not they should deal with a client… Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you guys so much from reading and reviewing! 3**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Burn Notice, or Florida, or really anything that has a name that I mentioned in this :)**

"All I'm saying is it seems weird that Anson would frequent one place. He's too smart for that."

"Weird or not Michael, it's the only lead we have."

"So you aren't worried that this might be a trap."

"For all we know, he just really likes the espressos here. If we have a chance we're going to take it."

Michael sighed and scanned the area again. He and Pearce had been watching the coffee shop for the last two hours, with no sign of Anson. Michael couldn't shake off the feeling that Anson was planning something. One of the first thing spies were taught was the simple act of avoiding parking the in same spot, or leaving through the same door. Going to the same place, every morning? Michael knew there was a line between being suspicious, and just being paranoid. But as far as he was concerned, Anson was suspicious when he was sleeping.

Michael glanced at Pearce, and realized that this was a good chance to bring up another topic. Michael cleared his throat and glanced at Pearce again. "So… About Fi…"

"No Michael." Pearce said immediately, without shifting her gaze from the coffee shop.

"You didn't even hear what I was going to say." Michael said indignantly.

"You're going to ask if I can get you in to see your girlfriend again. And I can't. The only reason I got you in the first time was because I listed it as an 'interrogation with a possible accomplice in our investigation.' Which fooled nobody by the way. Now, if this stakeout yields something, then, maybe."

"At least let me bring her her sheets." Michael pleaded. "I swear, she can tell the difference between 700 thread count and 800. And right now, she's practically sleeping under a potato sack."

Peace sighed. "I'll see what I can do, but an ex- IRA agent who admitted to blowing up a British consulate doesn't earn many favors."

"She didn't do it." Michael responded with an annoyed edge to his voice. "It was all Anson."

"I know that, you know that." Pearce said exasperatedly. "But until we have some evidence, we can't prove it!" Pearce suddenly stiffened "And it looks like we may get some soon. That's Fullerton's car, right?"

Michael hastened to look and saw Anson's navy blue BMW pull into a parking spot near the front of the shop. Michael was immediately seized with the urge to shoot the driver of that car in the head.

"Don't even think about it." Pearce said, as though she could read his thoughts.

Michael sighed and pressed his binoculars to his eyes. But the man who got out of the car wasn't Anson.

"Who the hell is that?" Pearce asked.

"No clue." Michael said

Pearce pushed upon her door. "Well, I'm going to go find out. Keep the car on."

Michael watched as she walked into the coffee shop. She appeared to be flirting with him, and he offered her a seat across from him. She started speaking to him, and Michael could see the guy's manner change. Without warning, he burst out the door and took off running. Michael shifted the car they had been borrowing into gear, and went after him.

The man ran about a quarter mile, then took a turn into an alley. However, he found his path blocked by Agent Pearce. He attempted to turn and run the other direction, but he found Michael's car waiting for him. The man bended forward, clutching the stitch in his side, as Michael pointed his weapon at him.

"Where did you get that car?" Michael demanded angrily.

"Th- this guy." The man panted

"A guy? You're gonna have to elaborate more. What's your name?"

"D- Daniel Gr-Grankins." The man replied, still choking for air.

Michael and Pearce exchanged a glance.

Michael shoved Grankins into the car. "Were going for a ride." He said as he slammed the door shut.

* * *

><p>"I told you I don't know anything!" Grankins shouted. They had just arrived at CIA headquarters, and Grankins had the blindfold ripped off his eyes to find himself in an interrogation room, with Michael and Agent Pearce staring him down.<p>

"The guy called me. He blocked his number. He said he'd parked a 330 CI outside, and that he'd give me $10,000 to drive it to that coffee shop every day before noon. I needed the money, my mom has cancer…" Grankins trailed off and looked away.

The door of the room opened and a young man in a suit walked in. "Agent Pearce." He said, handing her a note. "We found this in the backseat." The man immediately turned and walked out.

Pearce read the note, gave a snort of disgust, and then handed it to Michael.

_Oh Michael, what made you think you could track me? When will you learn that I'm cleverer than you? AF_

Michael angrily threw the note to the floor and turned to face the wall. Anson seemed to be ahead of them every step of the way.

"Michael." Pearce said sharply, gesturing him to the door.

They walked out and watched Grankins through the glass in silence for a while. Finally, Pearce spoke.

"We should have him just keep going there. Maybe Fullerton will show up to check on him and-"

But Michael was shaking his head. "No. Last time we tried to use one of Anson's people against him, the guy was killed."

"Well than what do you suggest?"

"The money Grankins got had to come from somewhere. Did you find out anything about the original account?"

Pearce shook her head. "It wasn't the account we knew was Fullerton's, so we didn't look into it any further. But in light of this…"

"Give me the account number you got. I'll see what I can dig up about the original account. You can expect that Anson probably ran it through a few banks."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Michael smiled. "I have my connections too."

* * *

><p>Michael pushed open the door to his loft "Sam, did you call-"Michael broke off as he saw that nobody was in the loft. He turned and walked out the door, flipping open his phone and dialing Sam's number. Same answered after the first ring.<p>

"Sam? Where are you? Did you-"

"Yea Mikey, We're at Carlitos. There's something you need to see." Sam replied.

Michael sighed and looked at the gate he had just locked, that he now needed to unlock again. "On my way."

* * *

><p>"Are you serious?" Michael said, as Sam held up the remains of what used to be a listening device.<p>

"Hate to say so brother."

Michael sighed. "Where was it?"

"Under the sink. I was defrosting my steak when your pipes busted. I went to fix it, and found this little surprise." Sam threw the bug into the dregs of his mojito.

"Any idea how long it was there?"

"Well it wasn't hooked up to any power source, and the battery was nearly empty." Sam signaled to the waitress for another mojito. "I'd say it probably had been there for about two days."

"And Anson is probably on the other side. Michael groaned. "Which means heard what we know about Grankins. Did you find anymore bugs?"

"Didn't get a chance to look yet. I just got the hell out of there." Sam sipped his new mojito. "Called your ma and Jessie. Just in case Anson planted bugs at their place too."

"Speaking of calls." Michael said. "Where's Barry?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "In the bathroom. He said his hair needed some extra spiking. He should be back-" They both saw Barry walk out of the bathroom. "Now."

"Hey Mike." Barry said, sitting down in the seat next to Michael. "How you doing?"

"Fine, did you check into that account?" Michael said without hesitation.

"No small talk Mikey?" Barry said.

Michael gave him the look, and Barry threw up his hands in surrender.

"Ok, I see how it is." He pushed his laptop across the table to Michael. "The account you wanted me to track has the money bounced through a lot of banks and accounts before it reached its target. But the owner of the original account is a guy named Jacob Martin. But good luck tracing other payments out. After he gave some guy $10,000, he was left with $2.13. That's all that was ever in that account."

"And the bank where the original payment came from?"

"You'd think that after running the money through Mexico and the Caymans, it would originate from somewhere further." Barry said, taking a gulp of scotch.

"Barry." Michael said impatiently.

"Ok, Ok. Marksmith Bank and Trust, up in Ocala." Barry replied

"Ocala?" Michael said incredulously. That's about 5 hours from here."

Sam groaned. "There's not even any good bars up there Mikey."

Michael looked at him. "Were not going up there to drink, Sam. Were going up there to find anything that can lead us back to Anson, and get Fi out of prison."

"Hate to interrupt." Barry said. "But I told my new lady I'd meet her for lunch."

"Thanks Barry, we owe you one." Michael said.

Barry spiked up his hair as he walked to his car.

Sam sighed and finished his mojito. "Wonder how Tinkerbell's doing in there. Think she's broken the neck of the prison guard?"

"Well I get to find out later. Pearce said I could see Fi after I debrief her on what we found out about the account." Michael checked his watch. "I have to leave for my meeting with her in ten minutes. Can you check the rest of the loft for bugs?"

"Sure thing brother." Sam replied.

**Let me know what you think! I can't think of a realistic way of tracing an unknown name, so leave me some ideas! :) Thank you guys so much for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Was trying to work on my Psych fanfic, when I had a sudden stroke of inspiration and had to switch gears. So I now bring you Chapter 4! **

**Big hugs to everyone who has read and reviewed! Unless you feel that's an invasion of your personal space, in which case you'll just have to settle for a virtual yogurt ;)**

**Disclaimer: I ****do**** own my cats. I ****do not**** own Burn Notice, (or any of the characters associated) Hungarian goose-down Duvets, FBI, etc. etc.**

Fiona woke with a start from a nightmare that she didn't even want to think about again. She knew she should get up, stretch her muscles, or do something productive. But instead, she remained where she was, lying on her back with her hands crossed on her stomach. She smiled to herself as she relived one of her favorite days with Michael.

_It was about two weeks after Michael has asked her to move in with him. She woke early in the morning, and stretched her arm out, blindly seeking Michael's warm body. Her eyes snapped open when she found nothing, and she sat up. Across the loft, Michael was sitting at his work bench, desperately flipping through pages and pages of files. Fiona sighed and got out of bed, walking behind Michael and wrapping her arms around his neck. Michael spared her a glance before looking back at his file._

"_You know, reading that through for the umpteenth time isn't going to reveal anything." Fiona whispered in his ear._

"_I know Fi, but look at this." He held up a piece of paper so she could see. "On the day I was burned, $50,000 was transferred from the account of one of the people who burned me, but I can't figure out who the money went to." He flipped through the file, as if hoping the paper that held the answers would jump out at him."_

"_And obsessing over it isn't going to tell you." Fiona took the paper out of his hand and put it in the file. Michael tried to open the file again, but Fiona walked around him and sat down on it. "You have other things you could be focusing on."_

_Michael stretched his head up to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Fiona suddenly broke away and jumped off the counter. She walked over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of swim trunks. _

"_Here, get dressed." She said, tossing them at him._

_Michael stared uncomprehendingly at the swim suit in his hands. "Trunks?" he said questioningly. "Are we going to meet a client?"_

"_Nope." Fiona responded, putting on her own swim suit._

"_Are we… going to Seymour's?" He said, as much as the idea annoyed him._

"_No. We're going to the beach." _

"_The beach, Fi?" Michael said incredulously. "Why?"_

"_Because, we have nothing to do today, so we are going to act like normal people in Miami. And normal people in Miami go to the beach." She finished changing and turned to see Michael still holding his trunks, his position unchanged. "If you don't put that suit on right now, I'm going to put it on for you."_

"_That doesn't sound too bad." He said, smiling at her._

_Fiona smiled and rolled her eyes as Michael started changing. Fiona went to the closet and pulled out a bag, and proceeded to fill it with towels, water, and a pair of pistols._

"_So normal people bring guns with them to a day at the beach?"_

"_They should." She walked over and handed him the tube of sunscreen. "Do my back?"_

_When they got to the beach, they both laid down their towels on the hot sand and sat down. Fiona leaned back and turned her face up towards the sun, but Michael was sitting up straight, scanning the area as if he thought one of the sunbathers had a gun. When Fiona saw what he was doing, she gave a small sigh and crawled over to him, and onto his lap. _

"_Michael." She said softly, running her fingers through his hair. "The people who burned you are either in jail, or in the morgue. It's not like they're going to crawl up out of the sand."_

_Michael wrapped his arms around her. "I know Fi. It just… it just doesn't feel like it's over. Not yet."_

"_Well it is." She responded. _

_She slithered off his lap and took his hand, leading him out to the water. He stood at the very edge as she waded in and let the lovely, cool water splash around her sides. When Michael had turned his head to look at the people surrounding them, Fiona took the opportunity to throw a handful of water in his face. Michael pretended to look angry, started to walk towards her. She turned to run away, but a wave came and knocked her backwards, right into him. He picked her up and spun her around, until another wave came and knocked them both over. They landed in the sand, arms still around each other, and in the moment, everything had seemed perfect. Michael was free of the people who burned him, he was getting back the job he dreamed about having for years, and they were finally together, with nothing to come in between them. _

Fiona was so lost in her memories, that she didn't even hear the door to her cell slide open. It took the sound of something being dropped on the floor to bring her to her senses.

Fiona sat up slightly, then bounded off the bed and over to Michael, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a long kiss.

Michael was slightly thrown off guard by Fiona's attitude, as she generally never acted like this, but he figured it must be a side effect of being locked in FBI prison for almost a month. When they broke apart, Fiona looked slightly embarrassed of her actions, and turned to go sit on her bed, looking down at her hands.

"Glad to see you earned yourself another visit." She said, still studying her fingers.

"Me too. " Michael responded, crossing his arms. "Pearce and I had to sit-" But he broke off as he saw Fiona give him an annoyed look.

"I don't want to let Anson intrude in every moment we have together." She looked over and saw the bag that he had dropped at his feet. "What's in the duffle?" She inquired.

Michael bent down to retrieve it then walked over and sat down next to her before handing over the bag. She opened it and smiled as she saw her 800 thread-count sheets, and her Hungarian goose-down Duvet. She pulled the comforter out of the bag, and spread it over both of them. They sat together in silence for a while, his arm wrapped around her, with her head resting on his shoulder. They both remembered their quiet days at the loft, when the rain was coming down in relentless sheets, and they lay huddled in their bed, savoring the time they had together without other people's issues interrupting them.

"So, what did you find out about Anson?" Fiona asked.

Michael turned his head to look at her. "What happened to not wanting him to intrude?"

"You know I'm indecisive. Just tell me."

Michael gave her a small smile. "A FBI file clerk, Daniel Grankins was paid $10,000 to drive Anson's car to a coffee shop every day." Michael sighed. "It was just some stupid trick of Anson's. To distract us while he's off doing who-knows-what. Sam and Jesse are tracking down the person behind the account now."

"I see…" Fiona said slowly "You know Michael, I have a fabulous selection of sniper rifles. A couple of bullets in the back of Anson's head seems much easier than tracking down a mysterious person hiding behind an unknown account."

"Well apart from the fact that the agency would most likely have my head if I did that, it's pretty hard to shoot a man if you have no inkling of where he is."

"Hey hey hey, no excuses!" She wiggled into a more comfortable position. "So who is the mystery man behind the money?"

"Some guy named Jacob Martin. Were still trying to figure out who he is."

"Jacob Martin? I've heard that name before." She had Michael's full attention now. "His name came up at some point while we were looking into Simon."

"And you didn't think to mention this?" Michael said incredulously.

Fiona shrugged. "It wasn't relevant at the time. He was just some guy that Simon had come into contact with."

"Well I guess I'll have to pay Simon a visit. Provided he and Vaughn haven't killed each other yet."

"You're leaving now?" Fiona said, not fully managing to conceal the sadness in her voice.

Michael looked down at his girlfriend, and leaned closer to her. "No, I have something more important to be doing right now." He said, his words slightly muffled by her hair.

* * *

><p>Michael dialed Pearce's number the second he got was outside the prison.<p>

"Michael." She said, picking up after three rings. " Did you guys find out anything about Martin?"

"Not yet, but we may have a way to. I need to meet with Simon Escher."

"Westen, why can't you ask me for a simple favor? Like borrowing $20, or getting an ex-girlfriend off your back."

"Because I don't need any money and I've only ever had two girlfriends to speak of. Please Pearce."

"Why exactly do you feel the sudden need to speak with a high security prisoner?" Pearce asked.

"Fiona remembered hearing his name when we were first looking into Simon. He was someone that Simon as trying to talk to. If Simon can tell us about him, it may help us find Anson's whereabouts."

Agent Pearce sighed. "Alright, I'll make a few calls. But it will probably take a couple of days. In the mean time, call your friends, see what their investigation has turned up. And don't think you're getting out of doing paperwork!" She shouted as he hung up.

Michael then pressed speed-dial five and called Sam.

"Hey Mikey, I was hoping you'd call. You'd call. You learn anything new about Jacob?"

"Yeah, Fi says he's somehow connected to Simon." Michael heard Sam snort at the mention of him. "Pearce is working on getting me a meeting with him now. How's it going on your side?"

"Well, we were at the bank where the money was set up, but the bank manager is a 65 year old guy, so there's no hope for me charming their security tapes from them. You could ask Pearce to work some magic, but I think that going the legal way will take some time, time that we don't really have." Sam replied

"I'm assuming you have an alternative suggestion?" Michael said, though he already had an idea of where Sam might be going with this.

"Well, Jesse and I followed him for a while, turns out he goes to a lot of those speed-dating things. I thought maybe a woman around his age might be able to loosen him up a little."

"Sam, if your suggesting my mother-"

"I believe at this point _you_ suggested it brother." Sam said cockily

Michael groaned. "I don't want her involved in Anson's plans Sam."

"Fine." Sam said, sounding irritated. "You can go find us another 60-something year old woman that we can trust to get us answers to help get your girlfriend out of prison."

"Alright, alright." Michael said. "I'll call her and-"

"Already did Mikey. But she's, uh- not too happy about you leaving her in the dark about all this Anson crap. You're gonna need to go talk to her before she'll be willing to do any favors for us.

Michael glanced at his watch. He had been hoping to go over his files again tonight, in hope that they might have missed something, but that would have to wait. "On my way."

* * *

><p>Michael quietly walked into his mother's house, oscilloscope in hand, running it over every inch of his mother's kitchen. He was hoping that she was in bed, or somewhere she couldn't see him, so he could have a couple of minutes to check the house for bugs. But he had no such luck, as he saw his mother sitting at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her, and a cigarette at her lips.<p>

"Michael!" She said when she saw him. "So glad to see that you haven't forgotten where I live!" She then saw the oscilloscope in his hand. "What the hell is that?"

"Just a laptop Ma." If there really were bugs in the house, Michael didn't want Anson to know that he was looking for them.

Madeline didn't say anything as Michael slowly walked through her house, running his fancy bug-tracker over ever surface. He was just about to conclude that Anson hadn't bothered with his mother's house, when the oscilloscope started beeping. Under the middle of the table, there was a small listening device, concealed under a piece of wood that was peeling off the table. Michael ripped the bug off, walked to the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet.

Michael then walked back to the table and sat down next to his mother. "So Mom, you got a call from Sam?"

"Yes, I did." She took a drag on her cigarette. "He said you need help with a job?"

"Well, kinda. Were trying to get some security tapes out of a bank manager, but so far he hasn't been very helpful. We thought a beautiful woman like yourself might get him to loosen up." Michael smiled hopefully at her.

Madeline responded by blowing a mouthful of smoke in his facing, causing him to cough and bat it away. "You don't need to try to flatter me Michael; I'll help you with the job."

"Thanks Ma."Michael said, starting to get up from the table.

"But." Madeline said, reaching over and grabbing his hand, forcing him to sit back down. "Not until you tell me what this is all about."

Michael looked down at his hands. "It's complicated…" he started.

"Well, I guess you're going to just have to tell me, since I don't plan on helping you until you do." She took a sip from her coffee and looked expectantly at Michael.

Michael was hoping that he could just give her a general piece of info to avoid having to tell her the long story; that was still slightly painful for him to think about. "Well, we're looking for info the get Fi out of prison."

Madeline glared at him. "I know _that_ much, Michael, and I've been involved in your life long enough to know that there's a lot more going on here."

Michael sighed and resigned himself to telling her the whole story, or at least the gist of it.

**Couldn't resist adding a little Mike & Fi fluff :) Thank you guys so much for reading! Let me know what you guys think! (That's a beating-around-the-bush way to say Please Review! ;] )**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you guys soooooo much for reading, reviewing, and adding this story to your alerts. I seriously cannot use words to express how much I appreciate it. :)**

**Disclaimer: I have yet to get a call or email from Matt Nix, so I do not own Burn Notice, or any of the fabulous characters associated with it.**

Michael jerked awake as the door to his loft banged open. He instinctively grabbed his gun from beside him on the counter, and pointed it into the shadows at the person standing by the door, with a gun also raised. The intruder stepped into the meager light from the small lamp on the counter, and they simultaneously lowered their weapons as they recognized each other.

"Agent Pearce." Michael said with a yawn, throwing his gun back on the counter. "So nice of you to drop by at-" Michael checked his watch "three in the morning." He pushed himself off his chair and walked into the kitchen.

"Michael." Pearce said angrily, tucking her gun into the waistband of sweats. "I called you _five_ times. Why didn't you pick up?"

"I ditched my phone. Anson planted bugs in my mother's house, I didn't want to risk that he had tapped my phone line." He got himself a yogurt out of the fridge. "Want one?" he asked.

She continued to glare at him for a few seconds before sighing and walking over to his counter. "No thanks. Some coffee would be nice though."

"I think I have some instant." He said with a sardonic smile, remembering that the last time he said those words, an assassin pretending to be a bureaucrat had tried to asphyxiate him.

Michael reached into his cabinet and got down a mug. Originally, this cabinet had been nearly empty, only containing a couple of plates, and the bowls he had stolen from Diego's import/export business. But after Fiona had moved, she made him go shopping with her to get new kitchenware. When they came to mugs, they had disagreed over what design to get.

"_Michael look!" Fiona said delightedly, pointing to the display of flowery ceramic mugs. "These have orchids on them!" _

_Michael came up and joined her side, looking at the mugs she was engrossed in. "Orchids Fi? Why not those ones?" He pointed over and the plain, light blue mugs a few feet away._

"_Please Michael, I really want these." She looked hopefully up at him._

_Michael wrinkled his nose. "Come on Fi, you know I'm allergic. Just the sight of them makes me want to sneeze. Why do you want the orchids so much?"_

"_Because." Fiona said softly. "Orchids were Claire's favorite flower."_

_Michael closed his mouth and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'll bring them up to the counter."_

Michael forgot what he was doing, and why he was doing it. He gazed into the depth of that mug; as if he could see Fiona's face, hear her laugh, even smell her perfume.

"Is there a bomb in that mug or something?" Agent Pearce said.

Michael jerked out of his stupor. "Sorry. Just thinking about something."

"Fiona?"

Michael glanced back at her, but didn't respond.

"Were doing what we can to get her out of there, but even the CIA can't just walk into the FBI, and demand they release a high-profile prisoner."

"I know." He said with a sigh, bringing her a mug of coffee.

Pearce accepted her mug and took a sip. "On the bright side, you get to talk to someone you'll be happy to see in prison."

"You got my meeting with Simon?" Michael asked.

Pearce nodded. "3:30 this afternoon. CIA is transporting Simon out of his hole as we speak."

"So you're here, in your pajamas, before the sun has even come up, to tell me that I have a meeting in 12 hours?"

"Hey, had you mentioned you dumped you're cell and given me your new number, this could just be a phone call."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Hopefully this meeting will convince me I was right to cancel his transfer."

They both sat in silence for a while; Michael eating his yogurt, and Pearce slowly sipping her coffee. Finally, Michael asked the question that had been on his mind since the day Fiona turned herself in.

"So, even if this all works, and we find Anson, what happens? It's not like he's going to admit what he's done. It would send him to a secret prison for the rest of his life, and then some."

Pearce sighed and put her coffee down. "All we need to get her transferred to us is evidence that will convince the FBI that the bombing is linked to a CIA matter. Evidence, which hopefully will be yielded from your meeting with Mr. Escher. Since both your story and your girlfriend's check out, we'll be able to release her under your watch. She'll have to abstain from blowing anything up, of course." She said with a slight smile.

"And what if that "hopefully" doesn't work out? Fiona sits in a cell for the rest of her life for a crime she didn't commit?"

Pearce gave him a hard look. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there Michael. For now, let's focus on getting past the toll booth."

* * *

><p>Sam and Jesse sat at a café across the street from the bank. They had been bouncing between their car, a nearby super market, and the café they were sitting in; keeping tabs on the bank manager and more importantly, waiting for Madeline.<p>

Sam thumped his beer bottle on the table with more force than necessary, causing a bit of the liquid to splash out. "Ok, I've already drank five beers. Where the hell is Maddy?"

Jesse chuckled, taking a sip of his third iced tea. "That isn't really an accurate form of measurement Sam. You drink fast and Maddy drives slow."

"Still, it's only about a six hour drive, maximum, and it's been eight hours since she left. Think something happened?"

"Apparently not." Jesse said, as Madeline's blue car pulled in the parking lot of the café.

"I swear." Madeline said when she walked over to them. "If you ever make me come up to Ocala again, I'm making you pay for plane fare."

"Hi to you too Maddy." Jesse said. "Why exactly did it take you eight hours to get here?"

"What? I had to stop and get my hair done."

Both men gave her an annoyed look.

"I can't charm a man very well if I have gray roots, now can I?"

"Don't worry; I doubt this guy is too particular on whether or not you're a natural blond. Look." Sam said, nodding his head in the direction of the bank manager, who was leaving the building."

Madeline looked as a fat, balding man walked out of the bank, and over to the hotdog cart. He ordered himself three hotdogs, then started to walk towards the nearby bench, already starting to cram one in his large mouth. When a large glop of ketchup fell off the dog, and onto his shirt, he merely ripped it off, exposing his large beer belly. A couple of young girls on bicycles rode by, and the man nodded at them, a salivating grin on his face, not noticing that some of his sauerkraut had fallen off his food to mingle with his chest hair.

Maddie turned around, a sickened look on her face. "Sam, you could have mentioned that the bank manager was a _pig_."

"Hey, I find that offensive! Some of us pigs can be great guys!" Sam said indignantly, patting his own stomach."

"Come on Mrs. Westen." Jesse pleaded. "This works, and we're one step closer to getting Fi out of prison."

Madeline gave the manager one last disgusted look, then turned back and lit a cigarette. "Fine. What's the plan?"

* * *

><p>Michael drove his car down the long, empty stretch of highway towards the secret holding facility where Simon had been transported. The last time he had driven down this road, it had been to receive the news that Anson's plans didn't stop at him, and that he was trying to rebuild the organization that burned him. Michael couldn't help but feel that he was moving towards more bad news, since that seemed to be all that his life consisted of nowadays.<p>

After making his way through various clearance and identity checks, Michael was admitted to the large, cement surrounded holding cell. Inside the chain link cage, topped with barbed wire, was Simon Escher. He was standing by the wall, staring up at the sky. He had grown quite a bit of hair when Michael saw him a year ago, but now it had grown even longer, giving him an appearance similar to a grizzly bear.

An armed guard opened the door to the cage and let Michael in. Simon continued to stare up at the sun, not speaking until Michael was a few feet behind him.

"They told me I was having a visitor." Simon turned around and smiled at Michael. "And I've been praying it was you. How about a hug, between brothers?" Simon opened his arms and started to walk in Michael's direction, but another guard in the cage pointed his machine gun at Simon, and forced him to retreat.

Simon raised his eyebrows and turned to look back up at the sun. "You know what is beautiful about the sun Michael? That it can constantly be counted on. Even if there are clouds, or fog, you can know that it's there somewhere, watching you."

"Cut the crap Simon. I didn't get you transported to Miami to hear your philosophies about nature. I want to know who Jacob Martin is." Michael said, getting straight to the point.

Simon looked at Michael over his shoulder. "Jacob Martin? Brings back memories."

"And I'd love to hear all about them. Who is he?"

"He's a man Michael. A man who had much power and control. He could have been ended, had you not stopped me. "

"Who is he?" Michael said angrily

"Now Michael, I can't just tell you. Where's the fun in that? But I know you'll figure out who he is in due course." Simon flashed his sociopathic smile at Michael "I know you'll _manage_."

With those words, Michael immediately knew who Jacob Martin was. He was a man, a man that Michael had encountered twice. A man that had helped destroy his life. And a man that Michael thought would be out his life forever.

Michael gestured to the guards and the door to the cage unlocked, as Simon called after him.

" I helped you, now do me a favor! Get the guards to let me shave this fur off my head."

Michael turned around to face him. "And how do I know you won't take that razor and slit your wrists?"

Simon gave him a wry smile. "I'm not ready to die Michael, not yet. Not until I know that every shred of the organization that burned us has been destroyed."

Michael gave him a curt nod, and then walked through the steel doors and back into the hallway. He sped his way through the many security checkpoints, and hurried out into the parking lot. When he was safely in his car, Michael pulled out his new phone, and dialed Pearce's number.

"Pearce." He said after she picked up. "I need to know what happened to Management."

* * *

><p>Madeline walked into the bank, Bluetooth in ear, file in hand. The bank manager, who had found himself a new shirt, saw Madeline, and immediately left the conversation he was in with one of his employees to intercept her.<p>

"Good afternoon." He said with greed in his eyes as he looked at her. "My name is Marcus Sanford, I'm the bank manager. How can I help you today?"

Madeline looked up at him with a sad smile. "Well, I'm here because my- my ex-boyfriend-" Madeline suddenly broke off and burst into tears.

The bank manager put an arm around her shoulder. "Why don't we go somewhere where we can talk in private."

Madeline nodded and smiled to herself, glad that this man could be fooled so easily.

When they had both entered Sanford's office, he brought her a tissue box and sat down next to her; a lot closer than Madeline would have liked.

"I'm sorry." Madeline choked out. "I'm not normally like this it's just, I thought- I thought he cared about me! And really, all he wanted was to steal my savings!" Madeline blew her nose. "And the cops say that without any proof that he was here, they can't do a thing about it!" Madeline subsided into another round of "crying".

Sanford put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, I'd be happy to show you our security tapes, under one condition."

"Condition? What condition?"

"You go to dinner with me tonight." Sanford said, in what he must have thought was a charming voice, which sounded more like a snarl to Madeline.

"I'd like that." Madeline responded with a watery smile. She hoped that this man would have better eating habits in a public restaurant.

* * *

><p>Michael pushed his way into Pearce's office, hoping to see her there waiting for him with a thick file that could lead them to Anson. Instead, he saw her sitting at her desk, looking at a few pieces of paper in a manila folder.<p>

"Is that it?" Michael asked incredulously.

"I'm afraid so. It has the information on Simon's attempt to kidnap him, you rescuing him, and that he's been transported to an undisclosed location."

"And there's no way to disclose the undisclosed location?"

"I called Langley, but it will take some time."

"Well, I was hoping for definitive proof, but my money is on Ocala."

This news took Agent Pearce off guard "Ocala? Escher told you that Jacob Martin is Management?"

"In a manner of speaking. He wasn't too keen on making my life easier."

"Well, it's something. Call your friends and see if they have anything from the tapes. Evidence directly pointing to Management will definitely speed up the process on getting his location."

Pearce picked up the phone to make a call, right as Michael's phone rang.  
>"Sam?" Michael said as he picked up the phone. "Did you get the security tapes?"<p>

"Yeah brother, your ma did awesome. We matched the time of the transfer to the people talking to tellers at the time. I sent you all their pictures."

Michael put Sam on speaker phone and flipped through the photos on the text message he just received. He passed an old lady, a young man in his mid-twenties, and a couple of women in business suits before he stopped at a picture of an old man with white hair. The image was slightly distorted, but Michael knew who the person in fuzzy picture was.

"Recognize anyone?" Sam's voice came through the phone.

"Yeah Sam, sixth picture." Michael walked over to Agent Pearce, and held out the phone so that she could see the face on it. "How's that for evidence?"

* * *

><p>Michael stood in a group with several other CIA agents, outside a small cabin in a secluded forest.<p>

The second that Pearce had received Management's location, they were taken via helicopter to Ocala, where Management had asked to be relocated.

With a nod from Michael, who was leading the breach, the battering ram was swung into the door, and they all swarmed in. Michael went down the hallway and found himself in a small bedroom. He heard the click of a weapon, and turned to see Management, a gun held steady in his hands, aimed at Michael's head.

"Michael Westen." He said, glancing at the bullet proof vest Michael was wearing, emblazoned with the white CIA logo. "Glad to see you back in uniform."

"Yeah, after you worked so hard to get me _out_ of it. Now there are several others who are about to join me any second, so I suggest you drop the gun and come with me now."

Just as Michael finished saying this, the other members of his breaching team came up behind him, weapons all pointed at Management's head.

Management dropped his gun without the slightest change in facial expression, and the members of the team moved forwards to put him in handcuffs. "Well Michael, I guess it will be interesting for us to be on opposite sides of the table." He said as he was led out of the room.

"Yeah." Michael said, despite the fact that he was the only one left in the room. "It will be."

* * *

><p>Michael stood outside the interrogation room, watching Management through the one way glass.<p>

Management seemed completely at ease with his situation, sitting comfortably in his chair; or at least as comfortably as he could be with his hands chained to the table.

Michael was so engrossed in watching the man that ruined his life, that he didn't even hear as Agent Pearce walked up to stand at his side.

"Having performance anxiety?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and watching the old man in the small room.

Michael gave her a sidelong glance and smiled slightly. "Just wondering exactly how I'm going to approach this."

Pearce raised her eyebrows at him. "Since when do you stress over an interrogation?"

"Normally, when it came to the people who burned me, it was _them_ asking _me_ the questions. It will be nice to be the one without the gun to my head." Michael took a deep breath, the opened the door and walked into the interrogation room.

Management didn't have the slightest change in position as Michael walked into the room. "Mr. Westen. Must be nice to be back in with the CIA."

"It is." Michael said, sitting down across from him. "Not that I expect you to be too happy about it, considering you spent years working to get me out of it."

Management neither confirmed nor denied this, steadily staring into Michael's face.

"Ok then, let's not talk about me, let's talk about you. I want to know why you transferred $10,000, which was practically all the money you had, into Daniel Grankins account."

Management was unresponsive for a couple of moments, running his tongue lightly over his thin lips before he responded. "I don't know what you are referring to Michael."

"Let me jog your memory." Michael pushed a piece of paper across the table. "This, is your account, showing the transfer of ten grand, to this account; the account of Daniel Grankins. And this." Michael put the enhanced version of the security tape photo next to the transfer document. "This is you at the teller, at the exact the same moment that the transfer went down.

Management stared back at Michael, an unreadable expression on his face. "That is not my account. I was merely collecting my retirement money." He gave Michael a smug smile. "What made you think that I would answer your questions?"

"Because!" Michael shouted, losing his patience. "You ruined my life without blinking an eye, but I still risked it to save yours! Now you owe me this much!"

Michael losing control was something his enemies feared, something that even merciless warlords had nightmares about. But instead of looking scared, or even the least bit concerned, Management just looked slightly amused.

"Michael. You've been in the spy game long enough to know that people don't play fair, and debts don't always get paid."

Michael took a couple of deep breaths, regaining control of his temper. "You're right, people _don't_ always play fair." Michael slid another photo across the table, and this time, got a reaction out of Management.

In the photo, was a picture of an old, white haired man, his arms around a teenage girl, who was laughing and smiling up at him. A couple of feet away was a woman, streaks of gray visible in her dark brown hair. She had a smile on her face as she observed the scene next to her.

"You didn't think I would know about them? You thought I wouldn't know that you requested to be relocated to the place where you had left your ex-wife and daughter? You know, I bet they didn't see much of you, while you were busy hurting innocent people. I'm sure they would love to meet some of the people you used to work with. Like this guy." Michael handed him another picture, this one of a vicious looking Russian man. "You must remember Aleksandr Petrov, the Russian mercenary who you tricked into doing you bidding, then turned over to the FBI, running off with his 1.2 million dollars. Or of course this guy!" Michael added Simon's picture to the mix, increasing the look of fury upon Management's face. "I'm sure he would _love_ to meet the child of the man who ruined his life!"

Management glared up at Michael as he finished his speech. "I know you Westen. You don't hurt the innocent."

"Oh, well I had a file that says differently. A file that _you_ created. Now, you tell us what we want to know, and I'll get them somewhere safe."

Management stood up as far as his cuffs would allow, and leaned forward until his face was only inches from Michael's. "I'll tell you what I know." Management snarled, the faint smell of cigarettes on his breath. "But if you touch them, if you hurt them in any way, believe me; I will insure that the rest of your life is a living _hell_."

Michael head his gaze, knowing that he meant every word.

**Thank you for reading! I appreciate it more than Sam appreciates mojitos! (Yup, I went there.)**

**Be sure to click that lovely little review button below! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I promise not to clog this chapter with any of my bolded text! Oh wait...**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not a thing. It's really quite depressing.**

Management sat in a small, gray room, cords trailing from his skull hooked up to an fMRI machine. Agent Pearce had originally suggested attaching him to a polygraph, but Michael had argued, not wanting such sensitive topics to be trusted to a machine so easily beaten.

Management's face as an unreadable mask, but in his eyes, Michael could see him seething with fury, directed at him and anyone who currently had more power than him. Despite the fact the Management was an old man, handcuffed to a table and in CIA custody; Michael could not help but slightly fear that anger. Management had always been a man with much power and authority, and they still had no idea as to how many people he still controlled.

Michael had wanted to be the one interviewing Managements, interrogating him and forcing the answers out of him. But Raines had put his foot down, not even wanting Michael on the same floor as their prisoner, let alone in the same room. It was a huge compromise that Michael was allowed to watch Agent Pearce interview him through the glass, as opposed to watching the recording of it later.

The small room was filled like a recording studio. Cameras were above head, in walls, some hidden, and some in plain sight. And sound recorders. They were in the table, under the table, attached to the ceiling. Nobody wanted to miss one devastating confession, one snarled response, or even a muttered insult.

Pearce walked over to the door, a thick stack of files in hand. She exchanged a nod with Michael and Raines, and then opened the door to the room where Management sat. They all watched as she walked over to the table, he face betraying no more emotions than the old man as she sat down across from him.

"Well." Management said after she was seated. "A pretty young thing like you should be an actress, or a model, not here in the CIA interrogating vicious men."

Pearce smiled at him, a smile that nobody believed for a second was authentic. "But then who would be sent in when agencies need someone to go undercover _as_ a model or an actress."

"Touché."Management replied, giving her a respectful nod. "Though, I'd expect nothing less from a woman with your intelligence."

Pearce gave him another fake smile. "Why thank you Mr.-?"

"Martin. Jacob Martin."

"Lie." Said the young man watching the fMRI machine, staring at the screen of the computer that was displaying the results.

Pearce turned back to Management, looking slightly hurt. "Now, I want to get to know you better. But I can't do that if you want even tell me your name."

"Michael Westen."

"Lie." Blurted out the man again.

Pearce gave the technician an annoyed glance. "_Thank you _Jonathan, I figured that."

Jonathan shrugged. "Just trying to help."

Pearce gave Management her attention again. "See, an fMRI machine can't be fooled by regulation of your peripheral nervous system. fMRI's monitor your prefrontal cortex. It shows the activity in the brain when one is attempting to deceive the questioner."

"Thank you for the neurology lesson. But I have used this innovative machine many times myself and I know how it works." Management said, casting an amused glance at the computer he was hooked up to.

"Then you know that every time you lie about a question, we'll know. And that's just more time you sit here in this room with wires trailing from your head, and your hands shackled to the table." She walked slowly around the table as she said this, and sat down on the table beside him.

Management looked up at her. "That's also more time that _you're_ forced to be in here questioning me, my dear."

Pearce kept her face expressionless despite the annoyance and impatience that was bubbling up inside her. She could see why this old man was wanted dead by so many, and after meeting him, she could add herself to the list.

"You're right. But you forgot the part where the longer that you're here, the longer that _they_'_re_ out in the open and unprotected." Pearce shook the picture of Management's ex and child in front of his face, just millimeters from his nose. She felt a surge of satisfaction as his expression hardened. She was glad that there was at least one thing in this world that could break the cruel man. Pearce released the picture, and it floated down to land on top of Management's cuffed hands. He caught it and stared down at the pictures occupants as he responded.

"They're safe. Nobody knows where they are, so nobody can hurt them."

"Right again. But we were thinking that after spending time with a weasel like you, you're wife could use some good news. And if you don't answer our questions, she might somehow win a large sum of lottery money! And that photo would be sent out to the press, so _everyone_ can see that happy winning family!

Pearce thought that she saw a flash of fear in Management's eyes, but it was so brief she wasn't sure.

Management stared down at the picture in silence for a couple of minutes before finally speaking.

"Kyle Miller."

Pearce looked at Jonathan, who leaned closer to the screen to see the result.

"Truth."

* * *

><p>Fiona hung from the pipe running across the ceiling of her cell, pulling herself up until her chin was above the bar, and then slowly lowering herself back down to repeat the process.<p>

When Fiona was first dumped into the prison, she had done nothing all day, merely lying on her back, refusing food, only taking small sips of water to pass time. Eventually, she gave in cramps of hunger in her stomach, and added the activity of forcing tasteless slop down her throat to her daily schedule. But when she noticed the tiniest ring of fat starting to build around abdomen, it alerted her to the fact that she wasn't doing herself any favors by acting like a potato all day. So she began a workout regimen as an attempt to get herself back into shape.

Fiona had just completed her 33rd chin up when she heard her cell door slide open. She hopped down from the pipe and turned around, Michael's name already forming at her lips, when she saw her unexpected visitor.

"Jesse!" Fiona exclaimed, a mixture of surprise and happiness in her voice.

Despite the awkwardness that they had before experienced when they were alone together, Jesse didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms. Fiona only paused for a moment before she returned the hug, but then pulled back when it occurred to her why he might be here.

"Where's Michael? Is he okay?" She asked, slight desperation in her tone.

"You? Openly worried about Michael's well being?" Jesse looked slightly surprised and gave her a once-over. "Who are you, and what have you done with Fi?"

"Jesse-"

Jesse laughed lightly. "Relax Fi, your boyfriend's fine. Raines has him tied up with an interrogation and Mike doesn't know when he'll be done, so he sent me to pass on the news."

Fiona gave a small sigh of relief. "Well, start passing Mr. Messenger."

Jesse shook his head. "I don't know that much, and I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's classified.

Fiona raised her eyebrows at him. "Jesse, just because I don't have any of my guns with me, doesn't mean I am not capable of _making_ you tell me what you know."

Despite the fact the Fiona was a tiny woman; Jesse knew that she would hold true to her word. He glanced around the room, checking the walls and ceiling for anything out of place.

"No cameras in here." Fiona said, recognizing his behavior. "And unless they've hidden recording devices in the walls, no mics either. I check every day."

Jesse stopped scanning the room and looked at her. "Every day Fi?"

Fiona shrugged and turned to face the wall. "Not like I have anything better to do."

Fiona gasped in surprise as Jesse suddenly pulled her into a tight hug again.

"I'm sorry you're in here Fi." Jesse said quietly into her hair.

Fiona was slightly caught off guard at his sudden affection. Ever since she and Michael had officially become a couple, the relationship between her and Jesse had been strictly professional. But for the moment, she allowed herself to return the embrace, savoring the human closeness that she had been lacking since her incarceration. "It's not your fault."

Jesse stepped back and held her by the shoulders. "And it's not yours either. It's Anson's. "

"I know." Fiona said with a small sigh. She suddenly stamped hard on Jesse's foot, causing him to give a gasp of pain and hop on one foot.

"What was that for!" Jesse said indignantly.

"So you don't forget why you're here."

Jesse hopped over to her bed and rubbed his foot. "I was wrong, you _definitely _are Fiona."

Fiona smiled. "If you don't tell me about Michael's interrogation, I'll be forced to change your foot type to flat."

"Hey, I was getting to it!"

Fiona walked over to stand in front of him and nodded expectantly."Go on"

Jesse gave her a wary look and brought his other foot up onto the bed to scrunch his large form against the wall. "CIA apprehended Management yesterday."

"Management? That white haired old rodent?"

"You got it. All Michael has been able to tell me so far is that his real name is Kyle Miller."

Fiona wrinkled her nose in disgust. "_Miller_. Sounds like the name of a scumbag."

Jesse gave a small snort of laughter. "Come on Fi. You're only saying that because of what he did to Mike."

"And you! He probably gave Vaughn the order to have Michael burn you!"

Jesse threw up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not saying I forgive the guy. I'm just not going to be prejudice about what his mama named him."

Fiona rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as Jesse looked around for something to change the subject."

"So… Nice accommodations." Jesse said, gesturing around the tiny room.

" Yea, they're fabulous. Nothing beats living in a 10x10 foot room."

"Oh come on Fi, I doubt it's only 10 feet."

"You're right. Its 10 ½. Pearce managed to get me moved to one of the "larger" cells."

"Please. I've been in these kinds of places before. It's not that bad."

"You've been in _gen pop_. Not in federal prison."

"You're actually complaining about _not_ being with a bunch of snooty prison girls?"

Fiona glared at him. "I'm pretty sure that I would be fine dealing with some stuck up drug addicts."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I just don't think that _they_ would be fine after dealing with you."

Fiona grinned. "They would deserve it."

Jesse was just about to reply, when a beeping noise came from his pocket. He reached in and dug out a pre-paid cell phone.

"They let you keep your phone?" Fiona asked

"No, they didn't. This isn't mine." Jesse's eyebrows moved together as he frowned down at the screen, then he muttered an insult under his breath before looking up at Fiona. "I crashed into a guy on my way down here. He must have planted the phone on me then."

"What guy? Did you see his face."

"No, I was too focused on not getting lost on my way down here. Look at this." Jesse held up the phone so Fiona could read the message on it.

"_Tell Fiona that gray isn't her color"_

Fiona looked indignant. "What is he talking about? I think I pull off this jumpsuit quite well." She smoothed her suit and stared angrily at the phone, as though it had personally insulted her.

"Uh, Fi, I'm pretty sure that's not the pressing issue here."

"Well can't you trace where it came from?"

Jesse nodded. "I can try, but I've got to move fast if I want a standing chance at tracking it before he dumps the phone." He quickly stood up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before pounding on the door until a guard opened it up and let him out.

Fiona watched sadly as he left, wishing it was her that was running out to find a person behind a blocked number, and shoving her high heel down their throat. She shook her head to clear it, then jumped to catch the pipe above her head and resume her workout.

* * *

><p>Michael watched suspiciously as Management answered question after question without hesitation. If it weren't for the continual nods from Jonathan, he would have believed that the old man was lying. Michael shoved his hands in his pockets, willing Management to say something that would lead them to Anson, and get Fiona out of prison. For the last 5 hours, Pearce had been asking him questions about his past. His wife, Carol, his daughter, Julia. Carla, Simon, Vaughn, and all the others that had been part of the organization that burned spies. All the things that Michael already knew. When Michael finally heard them discussing Management's payout to Grankins, he turned up the volume and walked as close to the glass as possible.<p>

"So, now we've reached the present. First thing I'd like to know is why you gave $10,000 to Daniel Grankins." Pearce asked.

"Fullerton called me and said that he needed me to send out a payment, since the CIA was watching his account." Management's voice had lost its powerful and commanding tone, and now sounded flat and monotonous.

"So, you just get a phone call, and give a guy $10,000, no questions asked?"

"In our business, you don't ask questions. I said yes, next day he arrives at my door with a duffle full of cash."

"If we're watching his account, where did he get the money?"

"How should I know?"

"Lie." Jonathan spoke for the first time in 5 hours as Management's brain activity suddenly changed.

Both Pearce and Management glanced at him, then back at each other.

"Ok, we'll try that again. Where did Anson get the money?

"See sweetheart, Fullerton and I aren't exactly pen pals. We don't tell each other about every little detail of our fascinating lives.

"So you don't have a guess?"

"My guess would be he somehow got it through his money launderer."

Michael fingered the doorknob, wanting desperately to burst into that room and get the answers that would free Fiona. But he took a couple of deep breaths and forced himself to remain in place, relying on Pearce to get the answers he needed.

Pearce pushed a piece of paper and a pen across the table to Management. "Name. Now."

Management took the pen and wrote down a name, giving a small sigh as he did. Despite how much he despised the old man, Michael could sympathize for how he was feeling. It was the same way he felt every time he did a "favor" for Anson. It was the feeling of doing something to protect someone you loved, when the cost was betraying and lying to someone who trusted you. The only difference was the things that Michael did hurt people, while what Management was doing would save them.

After a quick look at Jonathan to confirm the reliability, Pearce took the piece of paper and walked outside the door to where Michael was waiting.

"Find out who this guy is." Pearce said, shoving the paper into his hand. "I want to know everything you can get. Social security number, times arrested, assignments they didn't turn in during 6th grade. I'll call you if we find out anything interesting."

"I'm holding you to that." Michael replied before turning on his heel to walk to the elevators. As soon as he knew that there were no hidden cameras, he whipped out his phone and dialed the familiar number of his own money launderer. Barry sent him to voicemail three times before he finally picked up.

"_Mikey. Now's not really a good time." Barry said, the sound of a woman giggling coming through from his end._

"Barry, I'm sure your new "special lady" can wait. I need to know if you have any launderer friends."

"_Can't we do this some other day Mi-"_ Barry's words ended in a groan, and Michael heard the phone being dropped on the floor.

Michael shook his head exasperatedly, not even wanting to know what was happening on Barry's end. When the phone was picked up again, Michael started talking before Barry could protest again.

"Barry, I need information about another money launderer. And I need the information now."

Barry sighed, and covered the phone with his hand. When he got back on the line, he sounded extremely irritated at Michael.

"_First Amy, now Melinda? Are you determined to never let me find love Mike?"_

"Barry-"

"_Fine, fine. Who is this money launderer you need information about?"_

Michael hesitated. Despite the fact that he might just be acting paranoid, Michael didn't want to take the risk that Barry's line had been tapped.

"Meet me at Carlitos in an hour, and I'll fill you in."

"_Carlitos? No, not after you just forced me to abandon my girlfriend. The Chadwick. Two hours. You're buying." _Barry hung up the phone before Michael could even comment.

Michael then called Jesse, who picked up immediately.

"Hey Jess. Did you go-"

"_Mike. Do you think that Pearce could get her hands on the security tapes from the prison?"_ Jesse said, cutting Michael off.

"Maybe. Why?"

"_Someone planted a cell on me when I was going to see Fi. They had already dumped the phone, but if we could see their face, he might be able to lead us back to Anson." _

Michael felt a slight hope rising in his chest. "I'll go ask her now."

"_Great. But Mike, don't hold your breath since we're kind of grasping at straws here. If you haven't noticed, none of our recent attempts to find him have actually yielded positive results."_

Michael closed his phone and turned around to walk back into the CIA building. He knew that there was a lot of truth to Jesse's words, but it didn't stop him from feeling hopeful that this might be the time they finally caught the elusive man who burned him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: If I owned Burn Notice, I would be writing season six episodes for thousands to see, not a little FanFiction story that maybe three people are going to read. Therefore, I don't own Burn Notice, or anything worth owning that I have mentioned in this story. (Don't sue! I only have about twenty bucks!)**

* * *

><p>Michael took off his sunglasses as he walked into the dining room of the Chadwick. It didn't take Michael long to spot Barry's spiky head in the crowd, though how Barry had gotten by the dress code in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and khakis, Michael had no idea. Sitting next to him was a brown haired woman that Michael assumed was the infamous Melinda. The first thing Michael noticed about her was how much her face resembled that of a chimp.<p>

"Mike!" Barry called out when he saw him, gesturing him over to their table. "I want you to meet my girlfriend, Melinda. Melinda, this is Mike- Michael." Barry corrected himself when he saw the look on Michael's face when he called him 'Mike.'

"Oh, so _you're _the jerk who interrupted us earlier? You call us when were in the middle of something again, and I'll knock your teeth out." Melinda said angrily.

"Nice to meet you too." Michael said with a smile before turning to Barry and pushing the piece of paper he got from Pearce across the table. "I need to know who this guy is. I was told he was some kind of money launderer."

Barry took the name and gave a small snort before turning to Melinda. "Hey babe, think you could you go get drinks? Have whatever you want, it's on Mike." Barry waited until she was out of earshot before speaking to Michael again. "Erin Peters, Mike? Really? Out of all the money launderers in the world, you had to get me involved with Erin Peters?"

Michael didn't like the sound of that. "Who is he?"

Barry laughed. "Not he, Mikey. _She."_

"Fine, who is _she_?"

"Ok, so chick waits until _after_ we've hooked up to mention she had a boyfriend. And she only mentioned it when he came bursting through her bedroom door. Mike, I had to get six stitches in a place you don't even want to _know_ about."

Michael wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Yeah, I really don't. Your personal life aside, what exactly is her… significance."

"Ok, so remember how I once referred to myself as the man who hides money from the tax man? Well, she's Miss. 'Get money from the acronyms with them knowing'. I'm not even sure if money launderer is even the right term for her. She once got $10,000,000 out of the account of a guy on the FBI most wanted list. So her friends and clients don't exactly work at the local day-care."

Michael sighed as he heard this, not that it was coming as much of a surprise. What he didn't understand was why Anson had made them jump through hoops to get his money out of the Caymans, when it was available to him with a simple call to Peters.

"You happen to know where she works?" Michael finally asked.

"She owns a dry cleaning business, which is really just her front to get clients. So unless you want to walk into a room full of scary guys with guns, I suggest you go to her house." Barry pulled a pen from a pocket and wrote something down on a napkin before pushing the embroidered piece of cloth over to Michael. "Provided she hasn't moved in the last year, that should be her address. But I warn you Mikey, chick doesn't _only_ sleep with a gun under her pillow."

Michael smiled and stood up. "Well, neither do we." Michael got his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on, turning to leave. "Thanks Barry, I owe you one."

"_Ahem._ You do. Starting with lunch."

Michael rolled his eyes. He pulled a couple of twenties from his wallet and threw them across the table to Barry. "Enjoy your date."

Michael walked out the door of the restaurant with a small smile as he heard Melinda's angry "You made me get a drink for a guy that just _leaves?_"

* * *

><p>Jesse sat at in his leather office chair, rubbing his eyes and staring up at a TV screen. He had been sitting at his security firm for the last 8 hours, watching the DVDs that Michael had sent over from the prison. The DVDs were high resolution, so he could see every arm hair or piece of cat fur on a person if he so desired. Of course, the FBI didn't want to make his job <em>too<em> easy, so decided that there was no need for their recordings to be time stamped. They had supposedly sent the last month of footage, in case Jesse saw the man he was looking for in the weeks leading up to their interaction, but right now, Jesse had no way of making a distinction between the current week, and three weeks ago. He had been watching the video at 8 times speed, but it didn't make the process any less tedious.

When there was a knock on Jesse's office door, he gave a start and quickly turned off the TV. He technically wasn't breaking any rules, since he had finished his paperwork for the day, and had no other things he was supposed to be working on. However, he didn't think his bosses would approve of how he was spending his time and equipment, nor did Jesse want them to see him watching security footage from a federal prison.

Jesse quickly pulled a couple of random files out of his desk, and made it look like he had been working before he invited whoever was outside into his office. To his relief though, it wasn't a firm employee or one of his superiors who walked through the door, but Michael and two cups of coffee.

"Oh, hey Mike." Jesse said, throwing the files back into his drawer and kicking his feet up on his desk.

Michael handed Jesse a cup of coffee and sat down in the chair across from Jesse. "You go through those tapes yet?"

"All afternoon." Jesse said, taking a slurp of his coffee. He pointed the remote at the TV again and turned it back on. "But would it kill them to at least put dates on it? For all I know, this is footage for last year they just happened to throw in"

Michael smiled slightly. "Yeah, the FBI isn't to… chummy with the CIA at the moment. You're lucky Pearce found a way to get the footage at all."

"Yeah, I get to watch a month's worth of monotonous footage with no clue what day or week I'm watching. Might as well paint me green and call me a shamrock."

"Least you get to sit and watch something monotonous in air conditioned comfort. Better than Sam has right now."

"Why, what's he doing?"

"Barry got us an address for the money launderer. We're keeping watch on it before we go in, in case Anson has any surprises there."

"Ah, I see. Let me guess, you're here because you want to borrow one of our RF Jammers. Can't you just borrow one from the CIA?"

"After I lied to them about all this Anson crap, they're not really too keen on lending me their toys"

"Mike, they don't just give out those jammers like candy bars."

"Come on Jess. I saw about 3 of them in storage."

Jesse narrowed his eyes. "How did you get into our _high security_ storage room?"

Michael looked confused. "Easy. I just told the secretary you asked me to get something from there and I forgot my key. Straight out of the spy handbook. You seriously haven't forgotten all this already have you?"

Jesse chose to ignore Michael's last comment. "If you were in the room, why didn't you just steal one? Or… borrow without asking?"

"That was my plan, but that same secretary insisted on following me inside and started asking me questions about you. I think someone has a little crush on you."

"I'm not surprised. Incredibly good looks tend to run in the family. But these guns." Jesse flexed his biceps. "Just happened on their own."

"Yeah, you're a real Hulk Jess. So, jammer?" Michael gave him a hopeful look.

"Do you realize how much paperwork I have to go through to get one for an activity that's not directly related to my assignments? A lot. Plus, I have to give a reason for why I want one. What, am I supposed to tell them that I need one to block signals at a house of a money launderer?"

"You don't have to tell them what we want it for. Lie. Steal. Flirt. You can't be _that_ out of practice."

Jesse gave him a look that showed he still wasn't convinced

"Do it for Fi? Do it to take down Anson?" Michael pleaded.

"Fine." Jess said with a sigh. "But you owe me one Westen."

Michael smiled. "Thanks Jess."

Both men stared at the TV screen in silence for about ten minutes before Michael spoke again.

"So… how was Fi?"

Jesse gave him a sideward glance. "She's spent the last month and a half in solitary Mike, how do you think she's doing. I walked in on her doing pull ups from the plumbing, and I'm pretty sure she's been using that mattress as a punching bag."

Michael gave a small smile. "Glad to see prison isn't turning her soft"

Jesse suddenly burst out laughing, almost doing a spit-take with the coffee he had just drank.

"I'm sorry." Jesse choked out when he had controlled himself. "I just find it hard to imagine a soft Fi. I mean, come on, it's like thinking of a Sam that hates alcohol, or a- a Maddy, that hates cigarettes."

"You should have seen how pissed she got when she had to act like a weakling on one of our ops in Ireland." Michael said with a grin. "It was pretty ironic. She ended up giving me this." Michael pulled aside the top of his shirt to reveal a long scar directly beneath his collar bone.

"That… looks like Fi's work. What'd you do? Steal her C-4?"

"Some guys were using a pet store as a front for their drug business. I told her I thought it would be a little suspicious if the kitten groomer she was undercover as was found with a Mac-10 in her bag. She disagreed, and chose to try to use a claw trimmer to change my mind."

"Guess I probably shouldn't give her a kitten for her birthday then. " Jesse chuckled "You know, provided we're not all de-" Jesse broke off suddenly and grabbed the remote. "Ok, there is it, there it is." He switch the DVD from fast forward to slow motion as the man that they had been looking for appeared on the screen.

"See." Jesse pointed uneccessarily at the screen to point out the mystery man.

They both watched intently as the man on the tape, who was wearing a prison guard uniform, bumped into Jesse and discreetly dropped something in his pocket.

"Come buddy, show us your face." Jesse muttered under his breath, despite the fact that there was no possible way for the man to hear him.

Michael and Jesse watched desperately as the man walked away, taking care to keep his face away from the camera. But when the man on the tape turned his head to watch Jesse walk away, his face was glimpsed by the camera.

"Aha!" Jesse said triumphantly, pausing the tape and zooming in on the guy's face. "I haven't seen this guy before. Do you know who he is?" he asked Michael.

Michael shook his head. "Print out his picture, and I'll give a copy to Pearce, see if she can run it through the data base."

Twenty minutes later, Michael was walking out of the security firm, picture in hand, RF Jammer under his arm. Michael dumped the jammer on the passenger seat and turned the key into the ignition. He checked his watch and saw that he was already ten minutes late for his shift change with Sam. After weighing his options, he decided Sam would just have to wait, and drove to Pearce's office.

* * *

><p>Michael most likely drove far over the speed limit as he made his way to Pearce's office. When he got inside, he didn't hesitate to burst through her door.<p>

Pearce jumped at the sudden sound and pointed her 9 mm at the intruder. She quickly realized though, that the "intruder" was Michael, who was standing across from her with his hands in the air, looking slightly surprised.

"Damn it Westen!" Pearce said angrily, shoving her gun back inside its holster. "There's a thing called _knocking_. Try it."

"Sorry, in a rush. I was supposed to switch with Sam a half hour ago. Just wanted to drop this off." Michael handed her the picture of the man they got off of the security tapes. When Pearce took the photo from him, Michael thought he saw a flash of panic and surprise in her eyes, but it passed so quickly that Michael just figured he must have imagined it.

"This is the guy who planted the phone on Jesse?" Pearce asked.

"Yup. We were hoping you could run his face through your data base, see if you could figure out who he was."

"I can do that." She said with a smile. "Find anything interesting at Peters'?"

"Other than a couple of security cameras aimed at the front door, not much. I got one of Jesse's RF jammers, so we're going to go in after she gets home."

"Sounds good. Need any backup?"

Michael shook his head. "We're trying to keep this quiet enough to keep Anson from finding out. A big black SUV full of armed guys would probably alert the neighbors."

"Suit yourself." She said with a shrug. "Call me when you get something."

Michael nodded and left the room. His relationship with Pearce seemed to go in circles. It had started with neither one of them truly trusting the other, an affiliation similar to one a criminal may have with their parole office. As time went along though, they developed a sense of mutual trust, a trust only to be broken when Pearce discovered he had been lying about his involvement in Max's murder. It had brought them back to the start, with Pearce liking Michael even less than before. The only difference this time around, was she seemed less surprised when she found out he had been hiding something else, even something as significant as Anson.

Despite the fact that she had for the most part forgiven him, Michael could tell that Pearce still suspected he was hiding something. But for the first time, this wasn't true. Michael had been keeping her in the loop on every aspect of their investigation, telling as much about the situation as he had told Sam and Jesse. They had reached the point where he considered her a friend, which was not something he considered a lot of people.

* * *

><p>Michael parked the Charger a couple of blocks away from Peter's house, then walked until he found the car that Sam had "borrowed."<p>

"Mike, you are late, and I am hungry." Sam growled when Michael sat himself in the passenger seat. Though his annoyed expression immediately cleared when Michael held up the six-pack he had brought with him. "Never mind, all is forgiven." Sam popped the top off of one of the beers and downed about a quarter of it in one gulp. "Secret CIA meeting?"

"We got the picture of the guy from the prison. Pearce is running it through the system now. Anything exciting happen here?"

"Yeah, I got to watch the neighborhood cat hiss at a dog, and that guy over there mow his lawn. It was simply _riveting_."

Michael had grabbed the pair of binoculars and looked over at Peters' house, only half listening to what Sam had said. "What time is she supposed to get home?

"4 hours, 27 minutes. Give or take." Sam replied with a glance at his phone. "So until then-"

"We wait."

"Correction Mikey, _you_ wait. I got me a date! Elsa-"

"Go Sam." Michael cut him off before he could go into detail about what he planned to do with his girlfriend."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Sam had a huge grin on his face as his practically ran out and in the direction of his car.

Michael sighed and pressed the binoculars to his eyes, looking for anything unusual to occur. Normally, he would bring Fiona with him on stakeout jobs like this. Despite the fact that she would complain the majority of the time they were stuck in the car waiting, her presence always made the job more enjoyable. Sitting alone in the car just reminded Michael yet again of how badly he wished she wasn't in prison, and (despite the fact he would never say it out loud) how much he missed her; and the fact that the car they had borrowed was a Saab did nothing but reinforce these depressing thoughts in Michael's mind. Michael sighed yet again and grabbed a beer, wishing that Fiona was there to steal it away from him and make him open a new one.

* * *

><p>Michael checked his watch impatiently before glancing back at the house. It was going on 6:30, and Erin normally returned home around 6:45. Sam promised to be back at 5:45, but so far was not holding up to his end of the deal. Michael had placed 12 calls to the ex-SEAL in the last 45 minutes, and was sent to Sam's cheesy voicemail each time. After spending the last week watching the house until they could recite Peters' schedule in their sleep, Michael was anxious to burst into her home and get the answers he needed. Michael was just taking out his phone to call Sam again, when the man himself came running up to the car, panting slightly.<p>

"I know, I know, I'm really late." Sam said, trying to catch his breath

"Yeah, you are. She gets home in about eight minutes, maybe less. What took you so long?"

"Geez Mikey, you're starting to sound like Fi. Elsa also got us a hotel room and-"

"Never mind. That's her car." Michael pointed out as Peters' silver Audi turned and pulled into her driveway. Michael reached into the glove box and pulled out a gun. "You ready?"

Sam reached around to the back seat to grab Fiona's favorite shotgun, which was loaded with bean-bag rounds. "Always." he replied with a grin, cocking the gun dramatically.

Both men got out of the car and walked in the direction of Erin Peters' house, relying on the approaching darkness to hide their weapons from unwanted eyes. When they got to the end of the drive way, they exchanged nods, and Sam snuck around to the back, while Michael walked confidently up to the front door.

_When you need answers, but don't have much muscle or firepower, sometimes a straight forward approach is best. Deep cover IDs work well to protect your identity, but can sometimes turn a three day op, into a six-week nightmare. In a lot of cases, they same results can be achieved with a fake name and a smile, as opposed to a file of false information and lots of background knowledge._

Michael knocked at Erin Peters' front door and put on his most charming smile. The door was opened almost immediately by a woman who looked to be in her mid thirties. Though her face and outfit could allow her to be mistaken as an innocent dry cleaner, possibly the mother of a young child, the look in her eyes showed that this woman definitely had no maternal instincts.

"Hi! I'm Joshua, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions." Michael said cheerfully.

"You a cop?" Peters asked, her hand leaving the knob to reach for something on the other side of the door.

"No I-"

"Do you have an appointment?" There was a slight sneer to her voice with the question.

"No but I-"

"Then get lost." She started to close the door, but Michael held a hand out and prevented it from closing. The mysterious object behind the door was revealed as Peters pulled out a large pistol and pointed it at Michael's forehead. "I'm giving you one more chance to get lost buddy, before I'm forced to blow your brains out onto my porch."

"Hey!" Michael put his hands up in surrender, taking a step back. "I don't want any trouble; I just wanted to ask you about something."

Peters snorted, and then slammed her front door right into Michael's face.

_Though of course, when a smile doesn't work, you have to resort to other alternatives._

Michael rolled his eyes at nobody in particular, before removing his own gun from his waistband and kicking open the front door, knocking an unsuspecting Erin Peters onto her stomach. Michael put his knee on her back to keep her immobile and promptly zip-tied her hands behind her back.

Sam, who had come bursting through the back door at the noise, walked into the room looking unsurprised as he observed the scene in front of him.

"Well that's unfortunate." He said simply. He glanced at her nose that was methodically dripping onto her clean, white carpet, before looking around the room. "Do you think she has any beer?"

* * *

><p><strong>SO! If you didn't get it, my fancy italic text was supposed to be Michael's famous voice-overs. Not really sure if they are appropriate, since I'm writing this in the third person (At least, I <em>think<em> I am...) but hey, I felt the need to throw it in anyways! **

**Thank you for reading! Please review! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Nothing has changed, still don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>Michael sat on Peters' couch, taking a spoonful of yogurt and trying not to gag. He was accustomed to his all-natural Brenner's fruit flavors, which made the Boston Crème Pie yogurt he found in Peters' fridge sickeningly sweet. He currently wanted nothing more than to spit it out and look for something different to eat, but he figured that not being able to handle liquid pie would make him appear less threatening to the woman tied up in front of him. So he continued to force down the vile stuff, taking occasional glances at the uncooperative money launderer between bites.<p>

Sam on the other hand, had given up on the staring contest after about five minutes, and was now giving himself a tour of the house. He had expected the home of a rich money launderer to be like a palace; marble floors, granite countertops, a giant pool in the backyard. But Peters met none of these expectations with her very basically furnished house. She had a vast backyard with nothing in it but perfectly manicured grass. There was a pale blue couch in the living room; a queen sized bed with a white comforter set in the bedroom, and the dining room had a plain table that didn't appear to be made out of any kind of fancy wood. All the things in her house looked new and unused, but didn't seem to be any more expensive then furniture than might be found in the home of a middle-class, newlywed couple. The only thing that indicated that Peters was doing better off than the rest of them was the large house in a suburban-like neighborhood, and the fancy silver car in the driveway. Other than that, he would have had no problem believing that this woman made her money running a small dry cleaning business.

Sam spared a quick glance at the audio jammer on the table before grabbing a can of beer out of Peter's fridge and returning to the living room.

"I gotta say." Sam said, plopping down on the couch next to Mike and pulling back the ring on the top of his beer. "Your lawn looks amazing. But you don't seem much like the yard-worky type to me, so tell me, what's your secret?"

"Welcome to the 21th century grandpa, we've had fake grass for years now." Peters responded sassily before turning back to Michael and attempting to blow a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Is this why you guys are here? To hear about how I take care of my backyard? News Flash: That's what Home Depot is for."

"Funny." Michael said, putting his yogurt down and standing up so he loomed over Peters. "No, we're here because we want to know about this guy." Michael held up a picture of Anson that they had taken on one of their many surveillance excursions. "You may know him by some other name, or title, but we know him as Anson Fullerton, and we hear you've been taking care of his funds."

"I don't know him." Erin said with a shrug. She leaned backwards in her chair and tried to look unconcerned at her situation. She ruined her relaxed look though, by casting a quick, nervous look to a vase on her coffee table.

Michael followed her gaze and got up to look at the ugly vase. The thing looked like a cross between a rotten lime, and a large brick of moldy Swiss cheese. Since the many holes in it prevented it from holding water, there was a collection of dark river rocks inside to support the preserved flowers she had put in it.

Michael picked the vase off the table, and dramatically dumped it out so all the rocks and flowers landed in a pile on the floor. He proceeded to throw the vase on top of them, shattering it into dozens of pieces. Visible amidst the rocks and broken pieces of porcelain, was a small wireless camera, its glinting lenses making it stick out from the dark stones. Michael picked up the camera and held it up for Sam to see.

"Well that doesn't look like a flower." Sam commented, looking unconcerned and taking a sip of beer.

"No, it doesn't." Michael put the camera on the floor and moved his foot to stamp on it.

"Stop!" Erin shrieked, attempting to cover her head, despite the fact that her hands zip-tied behind her back.

Michael raised his eyebrows at her, his foot still hovering over the camera. "Surely you can afford to buy yourself another one." Michael started bringing his shoe closer to the small recording device.

"No! Anson loses video feed, this whole place goes up!" Peter's was panicking now, fruitlessly attempting to free herself from the restraints keep her tied to her dining chair.

Michael exchanged a glance with Sam and stamped down on the little recording camera, causing Erin to shriek and attempt to cover her head. "We blocked all his bombs and camera feeds. So let's start over. I'm Joshua, he's Adam, and we want to hear about Anson."

"Look, I don't even want to work for that guy." Peters snapped, still struggling against her restraints.

"Then why do you? Just say no, like your mommy taught you bout drugs." Sam chuckled slightly at his own wit.

Peters snorted. "Anson doesn't take rejection well, I saw that first-hand, and I don't know about you guys, but I prefer my body in one piece, not 50."

"So leave the country. Surely you can afford to. I saw your car."

"I leave, and Anson-" Erin sighed and stopped fighting her ties, looking drained. "I leave, he kills my father. And I'm not saying anything until my father is safe." She finished stubbornly

"Well, last I checked we're the ones with the weapons here, and you're the one tied to a chair. So, _you_ can start answering our question, and then we can talk about a great escape. That is unless, you want us to try out our new ammo on you." Michael took the magazine out of his gun and examined it, making sure the money launderer could see that it was full of bullets.

Peters started laughing. "You're not going to kill me. I have the information you want. Get my father safe, and I'll tell you whatever the hell you want."

Michael turned around and looked at Sam, who gave him a 'what other choice do we have' shrug. Michael rolled his eyes and looked back Peters.

"Fine. Give us his address, and we'll get him out. And _then _you're going to going to tell us everything, or we'll take care of 'daddy' ourselves, Capiche?"

"Fine. But good luck getting him out of there. It's not as easy as knocking on the door and walking out peacefully."

"And why is that?" Sam asked, standing up and running a hand through his hair.

"He's connected a bunch of triggered explosives to my dad's house too."

Michael sighed and crossed his arms. "Of course he did."

* * *

><p>Agent Pearce sat at her office desk, staring down at the picture Michael had gotten off the prison security tapes. She was afraid her initial surprise might have shown on her face when he handed her the photo, but he hadn't seemed to notice.<p>

Growing up with an alcoholic mother and a crack head father had taught her early on how to mask her emotions. After 18 years of living with her parents; hiding bruises and erasing any signs of tears from her little brother's face, Dani Pearce was excellent at deception.

For the first five years of her life, Dani's parents took care of her basic needs. Sure, she ate carb heavy noodles that held no nutritional value every night, and she often had to wear the same outfit several times to school in a week, but for the most part, she was happy. But as soon as she turned six, and was able to make her own Top Ramen, her parents gave up, turning Dani into their personal servant and leaving her to take care of her three year old brother.

Once a week, Dani and her little brother Jacob walked two miles to the nearest supermarket, pulling behind them a red wagon they had gotten from their next-door neighbor. They would take the small amounts of cash Dani had managed to steal from her dad's wallet, and look for the cheapest possible things to buy, doing their best to add it up to the money they had. Whenever they came up short, other strangers in line would take one look at their adorable little faces, and immediately pay the rest of their bill for them. If they were asked where their parents were, they would lie, saying that their parents we're in the bathroom, or in the bank across the street. People seemed to accept this response with few questions, and permitted the two children to leave the store, dragging their wagon full of cheap noodles and corn flakes down the street.

Dani quickly gave up on hoping for her parents to help her with anything. Her mother would sit on the couch all day, either a bottle or beer, or glass of wine in hand, talking to her drunken hallucinations. Her father stayed out of the house for days at a time, which Dani preferred. When he did come home, he would yell at his daughter, blaming her for the lack of money and for the crappy state of his life. Occasionally, he would slap her, saying that she was "looking at him stupidly" or "thinking about talking back." Dani received all of her father's rage and hatred on these nights. She taught Jacob to hide under his bed when he heard his father's car pull up in the driveway. It became automatic for Dani to stand in front of her brother's door, blocking her father from entering, even though he never tried to. He took out all his anger on the first person he encountered before turning and collapsing on his bed. Dani would then slip into her brother's room and stay there all night, there to comfort him when the nightmares came, which they always did on nights her father came home.

For years, Jacob was the only person Dani was close to. In school, she kept to herself, trying to be overall ignored. She was smart and athletic, and many of her classmates tried to befriend her, but Dani put up a barrier between herself and others, fearing that any friend she might have would learn her secret and tell a teacher. In 7th grade, Dani finally let her guard down slightly, and became friends a girl named Susan. Susan was adopted, and also bore signs of abuse on her body, making her the perfect companion for Dani. They silent struggled through high school together, inseparable until graduation. Not long after Dani left high school, she was recruited by the CIA, and lost contact with Susan completely. She spent years searching for any trace of her old friend, before discovering that she had died in a car accident, killed by a drunk driver.

Her brother on the other hand, had still remained in constant contact with her for years. As soon as Dani had made some money from her new job, she set her brother up with his own apartment and sent money whenever she could. Over the years though, their communication had died down to occasional calls once or twice a year. Though she knew that her job made it hard for Jacob to keep in touch with her, she still wished that they could once again be as close as they were growing up.

Pearce was jerked out her thoughts as her cell phone rang. She picked up the phone and saw Michael Caller ID flashing on her screen.

"Michael. What's the update?"

"_Well, we have Peter's and she's willing to squeal on Anson, but not until we rescue her dad." _Michael spoke quickly, as if anxious to get answers.

"Rescue?" She asked, noting his word choice.

"_Anson has explosives in the place, we have no idea how many."_

"Want me to send in a team?"

"_Yes, but keep it quiet. We don't want Anson hearing any unnecessary radio chatter."_

Pearce closed her phone and looked back down at the picture on her desk. She knew she should have given it to Raines the second that Michael gave it to her, but she just couldn't, not yet. She folded the picture in half and stuck it inside one of her books. She hesitated, then put the book under some files in her desk, and locked the drawer. She didn't want anyone to see that picture before absolutely necessary. She stood up and walked out of her office, thinking of a way to get a bomb disposal unit to a small, quiet neighborhood without drawing any attention to it.

* * *

><p>Michael and Pearce stood across the street from Carl Peters' shabby house as the three members of the bomb disposal unit looked for a way inside. Since there was no way to use cell phones or radios due to the RF jammer, they were relying upon visual signals to deem whether or not the operation was going well. They watched as the team decided that the front doors and windows weren't a safe entrance, and went around back looking for a different alterative.<p>

Erin was sitting in the back seat of a black SUV, her hands handcuffed to the seat in front of her, anxiously watching the people carefully treading around her father's house. Agent Pearce had tried to get her moved into an interrogation room for questioning, but she had refused to cooperate until she saw proof that her dad was safe. Proof that she would only believe if she was there to see it with her own eyes.

Michael leaned against the car, and shoved his hands in his pockets. To any spectator, Michael Westen would have looked calm and relaxed, like he had to deal with bombed houses every day. But the bulge in his pocket showed otherwise. Michael had his hands tightly balled in a fist, his fingers digging into his palms. He knew that Anson had no problem taking lives; he had watched him blow up four people already. And while Michael had no real liking for Erin, and had no opinion of her father, he didn't want to see Anson take yet another victim.

The minutes dragged on painstakingly until one of the men came back outside to give them an update, carrying a large explosive delicately in his hands.

"This one was rigged to the door. Had we opened it, the whole house been incinerated."

Agent Pearce gave him a wary look as the man encased in a large protective suit held out the bomb to her.

"Oh, don't worry, it's been disabled. Figured you guys would want to examine it."

Pearce nodded and signaled for one the other men standing silently beside the car to take it and load it into the back. She started at the explosive device as it was taken out of her sight, still untrusting of it. She didn't speak again until it was tucked away into the trunk of the armored SUV.

"What about her Carl?" She asked, crossing her arms and taking a couple of steps away from the car.

"Well, you guys couldn't have been bothered to mention that the guy's in a wheelchair, so we couldn't exactly bring him out the window we came through could we? We're lugging him out now."

As he said these words, another alien suited man walked out of the house backwards, dragging a very obese man in a wheelchair with him. The disabled man looked confused and dazed, as if he wasn't quite sure what was going on, nor did he care. Carl was wearing a lavender bathrobe, a large pork chop in his lap. What remained of his gray hair was a mess of tangled straw, sticking out at random places on his head. This man had clearly given up on taking care of himself years ago.

As Carl was wheeled closer to the car, Peters started screaming her father's name, trying to get to him. Several men were required to life the fat man out of his wheelchair and into the car. Despite Erin's obvious joy at seeing her father, Carl's face remained blank and lifeless, his dull eyes staring at the seat in front of him.

"How many bombs we're in the house?" Michael asked the men, glancing over his shoulder at Erin's attempts to gain her father's attention.

"Four that we've found so far. Whoever set this up really wanted to cover all of his bases."

"How long until you can disable them all?" Pearce said, checking her watch.

"Couple hours, minimum. We're still not sure how professional the explosives are yet."

Pearce nodded. "Send them all to the CIA when you get them out." Pearce dismissed the man, who gave her a respectful nod, walked back to the rest of his team.

"We're taking Peters back to headquarters for interrogation. You want to come or stay here?" Pearce addressed Michael.

Michael gave her a look that clearly indicated that he didn't plan on missing in interview with the money launderer.

"Alright then. I'll wait for you at my car." She turned and walked back down the street, leaving Michael and Sam alone by the SUV.

"So…" Sam said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "How do you know that chick will talk, now that there's no leverage on her?"

"Oh she will." Michael replied, removing his sunglasses and hanging them on his shirt. "She didn't seem too fond of Anson herself; probably can't wait to spill the beans on him." Michael automatically glanced at his phone for messages, despite the fact that it wasn't receiving any signal. "Can you stick around her for awhile; see if you can get a picture of the bombs?"

"Oh fun, I get to hang around a bunch of explosives."

Michael took this as a yes, giving Sam a clap on the shoulder and turning around to follow Pearce to her car.

Michael silently climbed into the passenger seat, as Pearce started the car and followed the large black vehicle that was leading the way. Pearce and Michael rode without speaking, both wrapped up in their own complicated thoughts.

They had barely driven 3 blocks, when the supposedly-disabled bomb went off. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The black SUV exploded, raining down bits of matter everywhere. Pearce's car was blown backwards by the force of the explosion, flipping through the air and coming to rest completely upside down.

Michael groaned and forced his eyes open. He glanced to his left, and saw that Agent Pearce was unconscious, blood slowly dripping from a dent in her head. Michael felt his own blood running into his eyes, and weakly attempted to open the car door. The door however, was dented by the crash, and jammed shut, unwilling to open, especially to a person in a state weak as Michael's. Michael pointlessly struggled with the door for a little longer, before letting out a small groan and giving into the darkness that was swallowing him.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry (to anyone who cares) about the three-week gap between updates. I've been attempting to update every other week... but sometimes chapters just don't want to be written.<strong>

**No Fiona parts in this chapter, (Maybe I should change the character settings?) but there will be in the next chapter, never fear.**

**Thanks for reading! Please Review! **


End file.
